Ice Melody
by Alex Damien
Summary: Milo is drawn to an ice castle by a strange melody. There he finds a man who claims to remember him from past lives. Written for the 2018 MiloShipFest


**Ice Melody**

As much as the tinkling music of the ice increased it's whispers the further into the castle, a thought started echoing inside Milo's head and he could no longer ignore it. _'He had to turn back, or soon he wouldn't be able to'_.

Milo stopped climbing the icy steps, and the music he had been following vanished as soon as he halted. He felt a push to keep going. To hear the music just once more. _'Just a little more, and then I'll turn back,'_ he told himself, lying to himself yet again.

He kept walking.

He came into another great hall, and had to shield his eyes from the glittering of the around it as it reflected the light from outside. The sound of the roaring wind had died behind him already, and all he could hear now were the tinkling of the ice as it called to him…

He kept going. Forward, up through a spiral staircase. The music turning into singing. He could hear the whisper of words now, of words spoken just a little too far. He hurried ahead, wishing to hear more. Just another step, he told, and the whispers agreed. _Forward, keep going, another step is nothing at all, and another…and another…_

Milo came upon a great hall, with a grand double door in front of him. The ice shone like a diamond as he walked towards it, noticing that there was some kind of engraving in it. The music and the voices rose, as if there was a great party just beyond the doors, waiting for him.

He placed his hand over the doors, touching a scene of battle. What looked like knights of one kind fighting against a different set of knights. Though made of the same ice, the left door knights felt to him darker in shade than the ones of the right door, who shone with an almost golden light in Milo's eyes.

He pushed the doors open, not minding as the cold seeped under his gloves. He hurried inside, looking around for the sound of music, and finding himself in yet another ice room.

The doors closed behind him with a final thud, the music ceasing and an absolute silence falling over Milo. He blinked, wondering where the hell he was.

"Uh? What the-?" he muttered, looking around. Brilliant white light came from his left, filtering, through grand windows several times taller than him. To his right a great four poster bed with white covers, white curtains, completely white as everything else in the room and in the castle.

And the door, closed behind him. He whirled around and ran to the door, trying to open it. There was no handle he could grab, and from this side the surface of the ice was completely smooth. He tried banging on it, but it wouldn't move.

He turned around and looked for another exit, but the only things he could see were the windows and the bed. Fear growing in his heart, he walked towards the bed.

He had to pull the curtains around it away, and small snowflakes fell around him and on his face when he did. He wiped the snow off his eyes and looked beyond the curtains.

He gasped at the sight of a young man asleep in the bed. A very beautiful man with long aqua colored hair, he noticed as he scrambled on top of the bed, looking to see if the man was frozen to death. Milo touched his face, feeling the warmth of life on him, despite how pale his skin seemed.

The man grabbed Milo's wrist, his as cold as if Milo's wrist was enveloped by an ice storm.

"I. Was. Asleep.," he growled, opening his blue eyes at him. The temperature in the room dropped, and outside the windows, the wind roared again.

"Sorry! Sorry! I thought you were hurt or dead, or, or…," stuttered Milo, trying to pull his hand away from him.

The man blinked at him, as if recognizing him, and let go of his wrist. Outside, the wind died down and everything quieted again. Even the room felt less cold.

"Oh. It's you. You came," said the man, sitting up.

Milo scrambled backwards on the bed, trying to get away from him.

"Yes, it is I- me. It's me. And now I'm gone," he said turning his back on him and trying to get off the bed.

"Wait! Milo!" called the man, and grabbed Milo's leg, pulling him back.

"How do you know my name?" asked Milo, noticing that the man's hold on his leg was much stronger than normal. He grimaced in pain, and the man let him go.

"I've been waiting for you. I wanted to go look for you, but the goddess forbid me from leaving this domain," he said, looking down in sadness at the white bedspread, and Milo noticed the first hint of emotion in his face. "I have a different role to play now, no matter what I may remember from the past…or the future. Gods aren't good at linear time. In fact, I don't think time is linear in itself."

Milo blinked a couple times and raised his eyebrows at that. Well, clearly this guy was cuckoo.

"Man, I'm sorry but I think you must have me confused for someone else," he said, discreetly scooting off the bed. "I mean, Milo is a fairly common name, and-"

"You don't recognize me?" asked the man, crawling on the bed towards Milo, who kept walking backwards. "It's me! Camus!"

"Look man, I don't even know how I got here. One moment I was at the camp with the other guys, we were about to raid a castle -a different castle, mind you- and now I'm here, and I vaguely remember following music? I don't know, but if you would show me the exit-"

"You can't be serious! I'm your husband! Or…will be. We will be married at some non linear point in time!" yelled Camus, anger clear in his face.

"What? Married? Look, I may have really long hair but I'm a guy, and I'm pretty sure you are too so there's no marriage happening in this non linear point in time, believe me," said Milo, walking backwards into the door and looking desperately for a way to open it.

Shit, was he going to have to break one of the windows to get out? _Could_ he get out through one of the windows? He had vague memories of climbing tons of stairs. How high were there right now?

"Milo please, calm down," said Camus, suddenly in front of him, his face a mask of absolute cold calm again. "Why are you so afraid?"

"Wow, alright, let me make a list: I just suddenly appeared here with no memory of how or why I got here, I'm alone in the middle of nowhere, you have some freaky ice powers, and now you talk about being married to me! Boy, do I have a bunch of reasons!"

Camus seemed to consider Milo's words carefully.

"I suppose you're right," he said, crossing his arms and tapping at his chin. "It must be a shock if you have no memories of anything like I do. What could I do to make you more at ease?"

"Letting me go would be a good start," said Milo raising an eyebrow at him.

Camus narrowed his eyes. "In the middle of 'nowhere'? During an ice storm? Alone?" asked Camus. "Are you sure?"

"Look, I'm a big guy, I can deal with myself. Just let me go."

Camus sighed. "If I open that door you will run out and only manage to hurt yourself."

"You asked me what you could do to make me at ease, and believe me, that's the only thing you can do."

Camus considered the idea for a couple moments, staring intently at Milo, who felt the pressure of the silence and the cold of Camus' eyes on him increasing and making him want to scream. He couldn't stand this guy. Everything about him was too much. He seemed to be ridiculously powerful, he was some king of some kind, and he was too good looking for him to be human in any way.

"Fine," said Camus with a deep sigh. "I won't stop you if you wish to leave, but please, at least consider for a moment staying a bit. Stay for a night, at least. I know you are tired and hungry, I'll provide a room and anything you wish to eat."

"Uhmm, I'll…think about it?"

"Thank you."

Camus nodded, and the great double doors opened wide.

Milo immediately ran out. "I think I'm gonna leave!" he yelled behind him as he sprinted towards the stairs.

"Watch out! Don't get hurt!" called Camus.

Milo snickered as he ran down the steps two at a time. He thought it was actually a shame that Camus was so crazy. Otherwise he seemed like a nice guy. And he guessed that if he _had_ to choose a husband, Camus was as good looking as one could imagine. Not to mention powerful and rich, if he indeed owned this huge castle. But no, better to not even think about all that. What if the guy was secretly even crazier? Like, lock you in the dungeon and starve you kind of crazy? No, better not take any chances. Especially in the middle of an ice castle with Way Too Many Stairs!

He heard a soft tinkling that sounded like music, and suddenly remembered hearing that same sound at the edge of the camp and following it. He covered his ears.

"Nuhu, not falling for your weird ice magic again dude! I'm gone for good!" he yelled as crossed another hall towards another flight of stairs down.

The muted sounds that still reached Milo's ears turned desperate, aggressive, and he caught the sight of eyes staring at him from the white walls all around. He kept running, and suddenly, he felt himself slipping, as if someone had pushed him, and he saw on the edge of his vision the face of a child just as his ankle twisted and he fell down the stairs…

#

He woke up to a feeling of intense cold on the left side of his head. He grumbled and tried to open his eyes, but the light was painfully bright.

"Don't move," said Camus' soft voice.

Milo opened his eyes despite the brightness. "W-wha- What did you do to me?" asked Milo, trying to get away from him.

"Don't. Move. I'm trying to make the swelling go down," ordered Camus, grabbing him and pulling him down on the bed. Then he let his fingers ghost over the side of Milo's head and the intense cold returned. "And I did nothing to you. You slipped when you were running down the stairs and hit your head. I told you to be careful."

Milo tried to remember what had happened, but his head hurt too much.

Camus finally let go of him. "There, you should be alright by morning, but you need to rest."

Milo scoffed. "Hmph…how convenient. Now I HAVE to stay the night, huh?" he said through gritted teeth.

"What do you mean?" asked Camus, narrowing his eyes at him.

"I'm pretty sure I heard your weird ice music while I was running away."

"I didn't do anything to you! I even told you to be careful, but you just had to run away from me like I was some kind of murderer. And if you think I brought you here with my "weird ice music", I'll have you know I didn't. That was my court. I am investigating who did it as of now," said Camus, standing up. He carried a small tray with bandages and other cleaning instruments. "I'll leave you to rest now, and I hope you are in a better mood in the morning."

He turned around and left. The curtains around the bed fell on their own as he closed the door, sinking milo in darkness.

Milo sank back down into the pillows slowly. He noticed his head had been carefully bandaged, and though he still felt pain, it felt dull and quickly fading. He closed his eyes, trying to calm down. Was Camus being honest? Had something different happened? He had spoken about his court so…there might be more people around that he hadn't seen. His mind went bck to the strange eyes he had seen staring back at him from within the walls and he felt a shiver of fear go down his back. Could there be anyone staring at him from within the walls of this room? He suddenly thanked the presence of the curtains.

His stomach growled, and he remembered that he hadn't had anything to eat since the night when he had heard the music for the first time. At least a full day and a night had to have passed by now, but he couldn't be sure. Gods, he was so hungry and his whole body felt like someone had hit him everywhere with a stick. Well, no point asking Camus for food now that he gotten angry at him, even if he'd said he could give him some.

Well, screw him. Milo sat up, feeling dizzy for a moment but recovering fast. He got out of the bed and checked himself. He was still wearing most of his clothes except for his outer travel coat. He pulled the bed curtains aside and squinted at the light a few times before getting used to it. He looked around and found his boots and coat by a fancy chair nearby. He tentatively touched the floor with his toe and found it cool. Not warm by any means, but it didn't freeze off his skin, and that was enough for him. He made a quick dash for his clothes and was out of the door in moments.

The door made no sound as he closed it carefully behind him, and he saw no sign of anyone else around the hallway outside. He wondered if he should call out for Camus and immediately discarded the idea. The guy must still be angry. Why the hell was he angry though? Milo was the one being kidnapped here! He should be the one full of righteous anger!

Milo sneaked around the passages, looking for anything that might resemble a kitchen or an exit, but there was nothing. Just rows and rows of deathly silent white doors, and empty halls. After a while of walking he found a staircase leading down and he walked up to it. Then he froze, hearing voices.

"You should have told me first!" came up Camus' voice. He sounded more upset than Milo had ever heard him. Milo shook his head. 'Ever'? Ever was basically a few hours. What was he thinking of? Still, he inched closer to the staircase anyway, trying to see downstairs through the railing. There came the whisper of more voices, but Milo could not make out what they were saying. He knelt and scooted closer to the railing until he could see Camus with his back to him as he spoke with three other people. Two children and what looked like a completely white woman. Her hair, her face and dress, it was all of an absolute white. One of the boys clung to her dress in fear.

"That is no excuse. You can't just decide something like this. If you knew where he was you should have told me right away, instead of having the Lower Choir enchant him to lead him straight into my room!"

The white woman laughed, and her voice sounded less like a human voice and more like the tinkling of bells.

"Take them to their rooms. They'll have no dinner tonight, and I'll decide on a suitable punishment tomorrow."

Milo grew angry at that and stood up. "Hey, what are you gonna do to those kids?" he yelled, his voice echoing through the tall vaulted ceilings of the castle. He ran down the stairs towards them.

Camus whirled around. "Milo? What are you doing up? You're supposed to be rest- Don't run down the stairs! You're going to get hurt again!"

Milo kept running just to spite him. "What are you doing to those people? Did you kidnap them too?"

"I didn't kidnap anyone. Hyoga and Isaak here were the ones who brought you here," said Camus, waving towards the two children who hid behind he woman.

They had the same white skin, eyes and clothes of the woman, but looked slightly more human. And there was something about them…especially the blonde one, that made Milo feel like he had seen them before. They peeked at him from around the woman, but hid back behind her as soon as Milo looked at them.

"Huh, so it was you two kids? They look awfully young."

"They're six," said Camus.

"Six? And you wanted to starve them!"

"What? I wasn't going to starve them. I was going to punish them."

"They're children, they probably didn't know what they were doing, right kids?"

The kids stayed hidden.

"They knew very well what they were doing."

"Still, that's no reason to have them go hungry. Have you no heart?" said Milo, standing between Camus and the woman hiding the children.

"It's not about that. What they did was very dangerous."

Milo threw his arms up. "Yeah, maybe, but now I'm here and no one got hurt. Well, I did a little. But I'm fine now and I forgive them and you should forgive them too and let them eat."

Camus glared at him, seemingly unmoved for a few moments, before sighing deeply.

"Fine, fine. I will not punish them. But we _will_ have a talk regarding their authority with the Choirs of the court tomorrow."

"Good," said Milo, turning towards the woman. "Are they your children?"

She smiled and shook her head. There was a strange tinkling to her hair when it moved.

"She doesn't understand you, and she can't speak in a way that you can understand. She's an ice spirit. And they're actually _my_ children. But they have a strong bond with her."

"Y-your children?" asked Milo, suddenly suspicious and trying to find similarities between the children and Camus. Had Camus really had children with someone? The thought made his stomach twist and turn in a way that he couldn't explain.

Camus turned to the three. "Go have dinner and behave, before I change my mind," he ordered.

The children ran away, and the ice spirit laughed with her strange tinkling voice before following them. Camus didn't say anything until they were long gone.

"I adopted them, but I haven't told them they're adopted. I cared for them after their parents left them out in my domains to die. How could I tell them that?"

"Really? So you didn't like…steal them from their beds or…uhmm, had a fling with some other ice spirit?"

Camus glared at him. "I have not done either of those things. You can choose to believe me or not. But considering you seem to think me a dangerous threat…"

Millo rolled his eyes."It's not that I think you're a bad guy, it's just…well, your kids kidnapped me. What am I supposed to think?"

Milo's stomach decided to take that very moment to make itself known, and it growled louder than Milo had ever heard it.

"Oh, right. You were also hungry…," said Camus, trying to hide a small smile that pulled at the corners of his lips. "

Milo felt his cheeks heating. "Uhm, just a little," he lied. "It's nothing."

Camus looked at him intently, as if trying to read the truth in his face. "Were you roaming around looking for the kitchen?" he asked.

Milo crossed his arms and looked away. "Of course not. I was looking for the exit!" he said. His stomach growled again.

Camus snickered. "Sure, sure. Sorry, I meant to have dinner sent to your room, but I ran into the kids. Go back to your room, you need to rest. I'll send you dinner."

"Fine," said Milo walking away. He was really starting to feel very tired, and every step felt like he had rocks tied to his feet.

"Milo?" asked Camus.

"What?" replied Milo. Suddenly, all he wanted was to lay down in bed.

"Do you know how to get back to your room?"

"Of course I do. Why?"

"Because you're going in the opposite direction," said Camus, pointing to the staircase behind Milo.

Milo facepalmed. "Gods, how do you even live here? There are like a hundred staircases in every floor and they all go in different directions," said Milo, motioning around him at the many ice staircases going up and down among the shadows.

Camus motioned for Milo to follow him and started up the right staircase. "It is not difficult at all. I built it myself, so it is all very fresh in my mind."

"You built it all? On your own? Like…with your weird ice magic?" asked Milo, using the very last of his energy to hurry forward and catch up to him.

"Yes. The ice spirits used to be scattered around the white lands, but the Goddess wished for them to gather here for her. I believe she intends to pick knights and saints from among them. I was incarnated here to carry on her wishes, so I built the castle to gather and house them. This is only the highest level, which functions as my and my children's personal rooms."

"Wow," was all that Milo could say. He felt awed and saddened by the idea that Camus seemed to talk about himself as some pawn. A very powerful pawn, but a pawn nonetheless. "So, uhmm…I thought you were a king or something like it."

"A king? I suppose that depends on how you see it. Most of the spirits have taken to honoring me as one, despite my disinterest for the title. After all, I am here only for a short time."

"What? Until when?"

"Until I die."

Milo blinked. "What?! Gods, you're so weird! Of course we're all here until we die! What kind of answer is that?!"

Camus tapped at the corner of his mouth in a pensive mood as he walked. The gesture struck Milo with the sensation that he had seen him do that before. As if it was something very usual in Camus.

They arrived at the doors of the room before Camus spoke again.

"I suppose yes," Camus said finally. "But I tend to be very distant from the concept of time, since I have very vivid memories and visions of many of my previous and future lives. So a lifetime feels like a much shorter amount of time to me."

Milo made a vague noise of agreement, pretending like he understood. "So, we were married in one of those lifetimes?"

Camus stepped closer to him. So close that Camus could feel his breathing. "We were married in several, and loved each other in every single one," he said, and grabbed Milo's hands between his own, looking at them with amazement twinkling in his eyes. "For so long I've wondered how you would look like in this new life, and how touching you would feel …"

Milo looked at the contrast of Camus' fingers against his own tanned ones and felt strangely…comfortable. As if this was nothing out of the ordinary. As if they had held hands unimaginable times before. The naturality with which his hands seemed to fit in Camus' grasp spooked him, and he pulled his hands away.

"A-are you sure the person you were thinking of is me? How can you be so sure?" he asked, taking a step backwards away from Camus. For the first time, the cold of his hands as they left the warmth of Camus' skin bothered him. He rubbed them against his arms.

"Completely sure. You have been one of my few constants throughout time and incarnations. Our companions shift as the goddess requires them in different times and places, but some of us are pulled to stay together, like we have."

He opened the doors, and Milo found that in the room where he had woken up, there was also a white table standing at the center of the room. On it were several dishes with fruits and meats and pastries. The scent of freshly baked tarts and warm soup and roasted meats overwhelmed him as he walked to the table without even realizing that he was moving. He stood next to the table, his eyes going from one dish to the other, wanting to try everything at the same time.

"Oh, I forgot the chairs," said Camus behind Milo, snapping him out of his enchantment with the food.

"Uh?" mumbled Milo, looking back at Camus.

Camus motioned to something beside Milo. "Please take a seat. Would you mind if I joined you?"

Milo looked to the spot next to him and saw a white chair had appeared there. He blinked. It had not been there before. He considered asking about it, but then his eyes drifted to a plate served with slices of roasted meat and vegetables, and he took a seat as he had been told to.

"Don't mind at all," said Milo, sitting down. "I wish I could, but I don't think I can finish this all myself."

Camus sat down across from him, a smile pulling at the edges of his lips.

Milo grabbed a fork and took a piece of meat, but stopped suddenly.

"Is something wrong?" asked Camus.

Milo set down the fork, remembering tales he had heard ever since he was a child.

"If I eat this…will I be able to go back home?" he asked.

Camus narrowed his eyes at him. "Milo I am not a fae. I am as human as you, regardless of the powers that the goddess has granted me."

Milo frowned. "I'm sorry but you just don't look that human. I mean, you're way too pretty to be human, for starters."

Camus smiled. "You think so? I've been amazed at your beauty too, from the moment I saw you."

"Hey, that wasn't- I'm not flirting, alright? And no, I don't buy the whole 'I'm human' thing."

"Hmph. Fine," said Camus, grabbing an empty wine glass to the side. He smashed it against the table and held up one of the jagged shards. "Fae and spirits do not bleed. Only humans do," he said, and sliced open his palm.

Milo's stomach twisted when he saw the blood flowing from the wound.

"What are you doing?!" he cried, standing up and walking up to him.

"Showing you that I am as human as you," said Camus.

Milo grabbed a napkin from the table, pressing it against the wound. "But you didn't have to do it like this!" he cleaned the wound and held up Camus' hand. "I believe you, now heal!"

Camus took away his hand. "My powers are of ice only. I have no power over flesh and blood."

"Then you're an idiot!" cried Milo, grabbing Camus' hand again and wrapping the napkin over the wound. "A small cut on the finger would have drawn blood, if you were so set on hurting yourself. Why did you have to go and do this?"

"I wanted you to believe me."

"You're a drama queen, that's what. Don't do this again."

Even after he had finished dressing the wound, Milo didn't want to let go of Camus' hand. Holding on to him gave him a warmth he didn't want to leave.

Camus sighed, and pulled Milo's hand against his face. "Touching you feels so good. I feel like I've missed you for a lifetime."

Milo pulled away before the desire to embrace Camus could overtake him. He felt so draw to him, he was convinced he must have put some kind of spell on him.

"Hey, keep those bleeding hands to yourself, sir," he said, trying to put a joking tone to his words, but his voice shook. He went back to sit down across from Camus. "You say you remember me and you remember me, but all I know is that you are some ice king or ice mage of some kind who is keeping me here and not letting me go back home."

"I am not keeping you anywhere, nor did I bring you here," said Camus, grabbing the broken glass again. It reformed as Camus lifted it and grabbed a bottle of wine to his left. The glass grew complete by the time Camus tilted the bottle to serve the wine. "Though I do wish you would consider staying until you are fully healed. If you stayed for a few days, I could arrange for an escort to take you out of my domains. As for taking you back to your home…if it is beyond the white lands, I have no way of taking you there," he said, passing the glass of wine to Milo and serving another one for himself.

Milo put a piece of meat into his mouth to give himself time to think before replying. The food tasted like the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. So much that he couldn't help but close his eyes and moan.

"Whoever is your cook has to be another wizard. This is delicious," he said, taking another bite and moaning in pleasure again. "Fine, I'm staying. But just until my head stops hurting."

Milo looked up at Camus and found him looking away and trying to cover his face by holding the glass near his face as a soft pink blush tinged his cheeks. Milo raised an eyebrow at that.

"Hey, are you listening to me?" asked Milo, wondering how directly he could ask about exactly where Camus' mind had gone.

"Of course I am!" said Camus, and the pink turned to red. The more Milo observed him, the more human he started to look in his eyes. "And I'm happy you have decided to stay. I would have been very worried if you decided to leave in the state you are right now."

"Hmph, aren't you nice," he said, deciding not to say anything.

"I know you don't trust me now, but I hope you will remember everything in time."

"Remember what?" asked Milo, taking a sip from the wine. It was the best wine he had ever tasted, so refreshing he felt almost intoxicated from delight as it covered his tongue.

"Everything. Our past lives. Our future lives. Our love."

Milo almost choked on the wine. "W-what?" he cried, coughing. "Now, look. I don't remember anything, and I'm still pretty sure you've got me confused with someone else. Do you even know anything about me now? No weird past or future lives. Do you even know who I am?"

Camus looked away. "No," he said. His face set back into a cold mask that showed no emotion. "Before the children brought you here, I had not been able to find you, or grasp at any memory of you as you are now."

Milo felt like he had won and lost at the same time. He had wanted him to say that. To say that he had no real idea who Milo was. But the way his expression had changed, and how far he felt now from Milo made him anxious in a way he couldn't explain.

"Well, I suppose I'll tell you some stuff," said Milo, hoping it would clear things up. "I'm from far to the south, from the central islands. But they want my head separated from my body down there. Some silly dispute over cows, too long a story. Anyway, I travelled up north and joined Shura's company because he's also wanted in the south, so I knew we would be getting away from there."

"So you're a soldier?" asked Camus. Slowly that indifference in his expression vanished as he grew more curious about Milo's current life.

"Hmmm, sort of. Sometimes," said Milo, suddenly realizing that perhaps it would not be such a good idea to tell Camus exactly what he did for a living. People didn't react very well when they found out that you were an assassin. "I also did some odd jobs here and there for Shura. We spent a while near the east coast of Saliehr where prince Aphrodite needed extra forces to tilt the balance against some cousins and brothers. It was nice there with the flower fields and the vineyards. Can you get out of the white lands? If you can, you should go visit there, it's beautiful."

Camus pursed his lips. "I cannot. I would die," he said, and took another sip of the wine.

"Oh. Sorry, I didn't…I mean, I didn't want to rub it in your face or anything. I just-"

"No, it's fine. The world must very beautiful out there. I wouldn't blame you for wanting to go back."

"…I didn't mean to make you feel bad about it."

"I don't."

Milo rolled his eyes. "Are you serious? I can almost feel the anger radiating from you. But I guess I would be angry too if I was confined to one place."

Camus set down the glass on the table. "I am not angry. This is my place and I have no desire to leave it. But there are other places that you love," he said, standing up. "And I cannot follow you there."

The door opened, and a spirit shaped vaguely like a man peeked inside, making a strange tinkling noise, like vibrating crystals.

"I _know_ ," said Camus to the spirit. Then he turned back to Milo. "I'm sorry, I have to attend to something urgently. Eat as you please and rest. You need to recover."

"Look, I'm sorry for saying that," said Milo, standing up too and pulling at Camus' wrist. Camus let himself be pulled closer.

"It really is alright," said Camus, pressing a hand to Milo's chest and looking away, the blush coloring his cheeks again. Milo didn't move, fascinated and amused at Camus' reactions. "I just wish…I could follow you…"

A soft scent of reached Milo's nose. Like fresh cotton and lavender, and Milo realized the scent came from Camus' hair.

"You're very dramatic," said Milo, his hold over Camus' wrist sliding to hold his forearm.

Camus swallowed, growing tense, but not letting go of Milo's chest. "I really have to go now," he whispered, sliding his hand from Milo's chest up to grab his shoulder, and moving just a little closer.

Milo felt his own face heating, and realized he might be blushing too. He took a step back.

"Well, hurry. That guy's twinkling sounded angry," he said, letting go of Camus.

#

#

Exhaustion overtook him as soon as he let himself relax in the bed, and he fell asleep immediately.

And he dreamt of the future. He felt it must have been the future, for there whispered a feeling of expectation in his heart, as if he awaited for this very moment to happen.

He entered a house within a sacred house, which he knew it was Camus' dwelling place for this life.

"I brought dinner!" he called, setting bags on a dinner table filled with loose papers and books.

"I said I would cook dinner tonight," said Camus from the nearby kitchen.

Milo snickered as he went into the kitchen to find him washing several mugs. "That's exactly why I brought it," he said, placing a light kiss on Camus' cheek. "And you've got to stop going in Hyoga's room looking for dirty mugs."

"Seven! He had seven there and half had mold!" growled Camus, angrily scrubbing the mugs.

Milo laughed, and the casual echo of his own voice jolted him awake.

As he looked at the empty bed beside him, he felt more alone than ever.

#

The next days passed in a blur of reality mixed with dreams that felt increasingly real, while the real world because a haze of white.

He would wake up and walk around the castle until Camus found him. Camus would always find him, no matter where he went on the castle. From the lowest levels to the highest towers. Sometimes Milo would find the kids in a room or as they walked through the hallways, and then they would play or talk until Camus would come looking for them and nag at them about how the kids had classes to take or responsibilities to attend to. And then Milo would pout and say that playing was also very important for kids. And then Camus would just end giving up and letting them play until dinner.

At night Milo went to be alone and laid there, wishing and praying to stop dreaming. But the dreams wouldn't stop. In some he dreamed of his own death. In some he dreamed of Camus' death. But other dreams terrified him because of their beauty. He dreamed of things so beautiful and of happiness so perfect that when he opened his eyes and saw himself alone in a cold bed, within a castle of ice.

And sometimes, he even dreamed of things that made him blush when he thought of them. He had never felt ashamed of sex, and had tried it out with any man that seemed interesting to him. But the dreams he had of Camus left him shaken to the point where he could barely stand to look at Camus during the day after, because whenever he looked at his face he found himself brought back to the dream where Camus was naked, his skin heated as Milo ran his hands over it.

Some dreams he found himself moaning and begging Camus to just hurry the fuck up and enter him. Begging him to go faster. To fuck him harder.

Other dreams, he found himself buried inside Camus, making him moan and gasp, pumping into him in just the right way to make him scream from pleasure.

 _M-milo, I'm so close," he would gasp, covering his face. Milo pulled his hands away. "No, I want to see you."_

 _Camus would pout. "Idiot, that's so embarrassing," he complained._

#

What a strange thing, for Camus to call him to his room, instead of just going to Milo's like he always did. Milo scoffed at his own thoughts. 'Always'? How long was 'always'? A few days? A few weeks? How long had he been there? Always was such a short time, yet it still felt like always to him.

This time, he found guards in front of the double doors leading to Camus' room, and his heart started racing in fear. Why were there guards? Did Camus have other plans for him than just talking? But it was too late to turn around now, the guards had seen him and they hit their spears against the floor, sending a booming sound across the room. The doors opened and Milo could see Camus standing before one of the windows, looking outside.

With a deep breath, Milo walked inside.

More spirits were inside too, which was a first for Milo. He had thought that no one other than him ever went inside Camus' room, but here there were more of those pale people carrying papers and books and even clothes around. In the farthest corner, Milo saw a couple of them setting down a big desk that made a tinkling sound as it fell on the ice floor.

"Milo," said Camus, not bothering to look at him. "I have the escort ready. You may leave as soon as you are ready. There is a chariot waiting with two horses, and four of my guards will take you as far as the fort of Whiteview. They cannot go beyond there, but you may keep the chariot and the horses to go wherever you please. They will be my parting gift."

Milo felt true ice running through his veins. "What?"

Finally Camus turned away from the window to look at him. His face a mask of cold nonemotion.

"I finished the preparations. You can leave now. Or after supper, if you'd prefer to eat first. That might be better for you."

Milo found that he could say nothing for a moment. He could hear the rush of blood through his ears, and his heart beat so hard in his chest it was almost painful. He gritted his teeth for a moment, as rage started bubbling in his stomach.

"Milo? Are you ok?" asked Camus.

"No! Fuck no!" yelled Milo, and grabbed Camus by his shirt, shaking him with a strength that almost surprised even himself. "Why are you throwing me away now?!"

Two guards grabbed Milo and forced him away from Camus.

"No, let him go!" yelled Camus even as he stumbled forward.

The guards hesitated for a moment before letting go of Milo. But they stayed just a couple steps behind him.

"Why are you doing this?" demanded Milo. He could no longer think clearly and only his rage spoke through his mouth.

Camus composed himself, turning to look away from Milo and out the window again. _'He's evading my eyes. He's going to lie'_ thought Milo with an absolute certainty. Suddenly he found he could read everything about Camus. The stiffness of his posture, he was nervous; the way he held his hands behind his back, a sign of barely contained emotion…Camus was an open book before Milo's eyes.

"I finished the preparations, as I said I would," said Camus.

"Bullshit! You're lying. I know you're lying. You're upset and nervous at something, I know you are. I know everything that you're feeling, but why? And why are you taking it out on me?!"

Camus looked at him, stepping back in shock. He seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then he looked at everyone in the room.

"Leave us alone," he ordered, pulling himself back together.

Milo tried to breathe deeply while everyone left, but he could barely keep himself from shaking.

"I'm not taking anything out on you," said Camus, looking at Milo for a moment and then looking away. Milo realized this was only partially the truth.

"Then what is it? Because you damn well have done everything you could to keep me here, only to suddenly decide you don't want me here anymore. So what is it? Are you bored of me?"

"What?! Of course not!" said Camus, then pinched the bridge of his nose. _Frustration, confusion._ "I could never…But I cannot keep you here anymore. It's not right."

"Oh, so suddenly it's not right?"

"No! It's not!"

"Why?!"

"Because you don't _remember!_ " finally said Camus, looking straight into Milo's eyes, letting him see all the sadness, the yearning, the despair he felt. "You don't remember, and you don't love me, so how can I keep you here? You might never remember, and you might never love me…No, I cannot keep you here, when there is a role you must fulfill in this world."

"So you just gave up on me? Fuck that! Fuck those roles we're supposed to play and whatever your goddess has told you. You never gave up on anything, but here you are acting like a coward! Betraying me again! Traitor!"

Camus froze at Milo's words for a moment. Then he looked like he wanted to say something.

"Gods, Camus, if there's anything you want to say, just say it!" yelled Milo, feeling his anger rising again.

"But…could you…Could you ever remember? Could you even love me, even if you never did?"

Milo took yet another deep breath, and found that his anger subsided.

"I don't…I don't know," said Milo, stepping closer to Camus. His hands went to reach out to him, but he stopped himself midway, and ended up crossing his arms and looking away. "You've had all your life to remember, and I…Well, we haven't even…uhm…even kissed. How could I know if I-?"

Camus bridged the gap between them, circling Milo's waist with his arms.

"You're right. I can't believe I forgot that I was the one to kiss you first," he said.

"Wha-?!" tried to say Milo, but Camus kissed him.

Milo froze for a moment in shock, then he breathed, and let himself lean into Camus' embrace, throwing his arms around his neck. The stiffness between them melted, and they fell into a comfortable embrace.

A vision crossed Milo's mind.

 _"Hey, you know what would have been cool?" he had said, turning to look at Camus, thinking he would find him glaring at the flames of the burning house. But Camus had been looking at him instead and kissed him with a naturality that felt just as easy as this one._

Camus pulled away from the kiss, and Milo gave a small whimper.

"Did you remember anything?" asked Camus.

Milo growled. It _had_ been a really nice kiss. Why did he have to go and demand memories of him Right Now? Milo let his head fall against Camus' chest.

"Remember? I don't know. I keep seeing us both standing before a building on fire and kissing. And you were dressed as some kind of noble while I was…mostly naked? Does that count as a memory?" said Milo, already sick of those senseless images in his head

Camus grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him away to look at him in the face. He was smiling. The most pure, unguarded smile of joy.

"Yes! That was our first kiss!" he said.

"Wow, that's pretty dumb. Why were we there and why was I basically wearing nothing but burnt fur?" asked Milo, very perturbed by the idea that he had been seeing something that had, at some point in time, actually happened between them. Was this the future (or past?) that Camus was always talking about?

"I don't know," said Camus, still smiling, and hugged Milo so hard, Milo could barely breathe. "Have you been remembering and didn't tell me?"

Milo huffed when Camus let go of him. "When you said remembering things I thought it would be more like…I don't know. Something more dramatic and serious like our wedding, or meeting for the first time, or…"

Camus shook his head. "We met as children. Those are the last memories you will get," he said.

"No, I mean… like…I mean, I keep having this repeating dream of finding a box of koalas under your bed and you being _so upset_ about it. What is that supposed to mean? Weren't we knights?"

"Saints. Golden saints….But we did have a lot of free time, and you used most of it unwisely," said Camus.

"And you used it to put koalas in boxes!"

Camus' cheeks grew a slight pink tinge. He reached out and pulled Milo against him, grabbing him by the waist. "I'll have you remember all the other things you did and that I had to deal with!" he said, and kissed him again.

Milo tried to pull away for all of two seconds, before the pleasure of the kiss and of Camus' hands on him was too much, and he pressed himself even more flush against Camus, wanting to feel him closer and getting less and less satisfied with the mere pressing of their lips. He let his hands feel up and down Camus' sides, reveling in the way Camus shivered under his fingers. He slipped one of his hands under Camus' shirt, touching the heated skin under the layers of silk, and Camus gasped. Milo smirked against his lips and deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue inside Camus' mouth. Camus gave a strangled cry of surprise and moaned.

#

Milo opened his eyes. He blinked a few times against the light coming from the open curtains until he could stand it, and he saw the outline of the sanctuary far away.

Behind him, Camus gave a slight chuckle as he threw an arm around Milo's waist, his fingers ghosting over Milo's skin.

"It sounded like you were having a very nice dream," he said. The scent of him reached Milo's nose. A mix of mint and cedarwood that made Milo fully awake.

Milo turned to lay on his back and stared at the ceiling of the house of Aquarius.

"I wish. I actually had the weirdest dream I ever had. It almost feels like a memory. A weird memory of some kind."

"Really? Because you were moaning and calling my name," said Camus, letting his fingers drift down below Milo's belly button, tracing the trail of hair that led down to Milo's partly erect dick.

"Oh, we were having sex in my dream, definitely. But you weren't you. You were some kind of ice king in an ice castle that you created with weird ice magic that Athena had given you and it was full of ice spirits and I was an assassin that you'd kidnapped because we somehow kept falling in love in different incarnations-"

Camus covered Milo's mouth. "You're never watching that Frozen movie ever again."

A/N: I sure hope this counts for the Royalty theme of the event cos I really had a hard time coming up with a story for this one. I'm not good with prompts, but I've had fun with the ones I managed to write for. I hope you guys enjoyed reading it. I found it a lot of fun to write Camus as the one who shows more emotion towards Milo, because I usually write it the opposite way, being that I see Camus as the more emotionally constipated one. But this was a nice change of style that I enjoyed a lot.

If you liked it, please consider leaving kudos or a comment. It would mean a lot to me.


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